Silence is Golden
by This is the Circus
Summary: Quite rudely, Draco was cut off before he could utter a word. "In order to cleanse your conscious, you are going to watch over Harry, doing whatever he asks of you, and help him make a full recovery from this." Scandalized, Draco asked, "How is this going to be beneficial to me?" Again, she smiled, with a wise look in her eye. "You'll see." Slash.
1. whisper

Written for the OTP Boot Camp Challenge and the Drarry Challenge. Prompts: silence is golden.

* * *

_**Silence is **_**golden**

**i. **_**whisper**_

He must have been sleeping, because all he could see was blackness.

That was mildly unusual, since when Harry slept, he usually had dreams. The nothingness was oddly comforting, though, so he didn't mind too much. He knew his body was there, because he could blink his eyes, and move his arms, but every time he attempted to _look_ at his hands, his feet, he was swallowed by a void again. It was an uncanny feeling.

His back was being cushioned by something ethereal and soft. In his ear, he felt a light buzzing, before it disappeared altogether. A ringing or low beeping replaced it (he couldn't tell which) and after a few seconds it become so hazy and distorted, it sounded like what Harry would imagine an angel's song would. It whispered long and short notes, a juxtaposition into something eerie and otherworldly. He didn't realize he was breathing quickly, but the when it slowed, the change was noticeable. With a steady rhythm, his stomach moved up and down. Harry didn't know whether he was lying down or standing up, but it didn't seem to matter. Everything else was still and it was actually rather . . . serene. It wouldn't be awful to stay like this forever.

Suddenly, his tranquility was disrupted, for a sudden light hit the lids of his eyes, causing reddish spots to jump across the darkness (_It looks a bit like a fireworks show_, he mused). On impulse, a lazy hand shot to his face, as he blinked lethargically.

"Is it time to make breakfast already, Vernon . . .?" The emerald-eyed boy yawned, with slow movements as he stretched his arms beside him. Harry hardly noticed that the black had disappeared with the sight he met: Hermione, Ron, and . . . Draco Malfoy. Hermione was walking back and forth her head in her hands, mumbling something he couldn't hear, while Ron was following, apparently trying to calm her down. Draco was standing against a brick wall, looking slightly distressed. The whole vision was visibly blurred, and the corners were edged with crimson and rusted orange, as if his eyes were half-lidded (he was sure they were wide open . . .) and the colors seemed to bleed into each other. It all seemed so dreamlike, like a rejected piece of surrealist artwork.

Random witches and wizards dressed in lime green seemed to flit in and out of the room every few minutes. The various faces were undefined, and only a general estimation of their genders could be made out. The interior vaguely reminded of his visit to St. Mungo's in fifth year . . . wait. _Why does this place look like St. Mungo's?_

Then, the memory of all that happened yesterday (or maybe it was today? His internal clock was off . . .) flew at him at the speed of light. May second—the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. Weren't they having a celebration or something? Why was he here?

"Hermione? Ron?" He looked up at the figures with dimly lit eyes." What's going on?"

* * *

"At least it's not cancer!" Ron (unsuccessfully) attempted to soothe the sobbing girl.

"Ronald! Would you rather have cancer, where you can die a nice, fairly painless death, or would you want to have all your limbs fall off?" She inquired angrily.

"Uh. . . I'll take the cancer, please."

The statement lead Hermione into another round of bawls, while Ron patted her back awkwardly.

On the other side of the room, Draco stood uncomfortably, eyeing the duo with wary. Frankly, the only reason Draco had accompanied the two was because of his slight . . . guilt. Had he taken what Pansy said to heart, he, most likely, could have avoided all this trouble. Despite popular belief, he had some respect for the wizard; after all, if it hadn't been for him, the Dark Lord would still be alive, and he would still be condemned to the hellish life of a Death Eater, required to commit atrocities. Believe or not, he really did not want to kill anyone, muggle or wizard. The months when the Dark Lord inhabited their manor were probably the worst of his life. He shuddered just thinking about it.

Just then, a female healer robed in the familiar lime green opened the door to the ward. An important-looking document in hand, she looked down at it and then up at the trio in the waiting area.

"Yes . . . it seems Mister Potter will be relatively all right. A little bruising and permanent scaring never hurt anyone." She announced roughly.

Somewhere along the way, Hermione had sat in an askew chair. The declaration promptly caused her to rise.

"'_Relatively all right'?_ What do you mean, '_relatively all right'?" _She demanded, frantic.

Seemingly sensing Hermione's anguish, Ron stood, as well. "Yeah! What do you mean? And who are you anyway?"

The healer sighed impassively. "I'm Healer Smith. By relatively all right, I mean he isn't spectacular, but he isn't in the worst condition he could be in from his injuries. Almost lost all his legs and arms, both his ears and-"

"Yes, I know!" Hermione winced at the memory of the gruesome sight. "Don't remind me. . ."

"So he's not going to die, then?" Ron concluded. Hermione sent him a glare that went unnoticed.

"Most likely not."

"Excuse me, Miss," Hermione said, distraught. "You have to understand that's not exactly _reassuring._ Our best friend—we saw him nearly _die _yet again as—as his limbs were slowly, and rather painfully sev—severed—" It was there that the girl broke off into sobs again as Ron rushed to her side. Draco's heart clenched slightly at the grief on _his _part, but said nothing.

Another sigh escaped the healer. "I realize this, Miss Granger. There's nothing I can do about what you saw. I am only a healer, and to heal the injured is my only job. However, as Mister Potter appears to be waking up, if you want to see him, follow me."

Briskly, Healer Smith swung around and made her way to the fourth floor, not stopping to see if they were following.

* * *

As the three followed the healer, Hermione couldn't help but feel suspicious at Draco's intentions. The boy hadn't even shown up until half way through the party, and even then, why did he come, anyway? After they graduated from Hogwarts, Draco hadn't made any attempt to befriend any of them. And . . . when she thought about it now, who had invited Draco? Surely not herself; she doubted it was Ron, he held some pretty angry and long grudges. . .so that left . . . Harry. Hmm. How strange.

Had he only come to mock Harry when he woke up? Malfoy didn't look concerned or anxious or . . . well he didn't really look _anything,_ but he hardly ever did. For the longest of times, Hermione thought the only expressions he was capable of making were ones of smug satisfaction, cruel mockery, and impregnable superiority.

If she believed he was going to do that, why allow him to join them? So far Malfoy hadn't said anything, only apparated with them when as they were going to St. Mungo's . . . and that was what unnerved her. _Draco Lucius Malfoy hadn't said anything. _Not one insult, or taunt or remark. Nothing. Although his face told no tales, Hermione couldn't help but think there was something hidden more behind the slate grey eyes.

Finally, they reached the ward where Harry was to be occupying. With almost melodramatic slowness, the mediwitch pushed open the door, and Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had, and Malfoy took one.

On a comfortable-looking hospital bed lie Harry's comatose body.

"He looks so peaceful . . ." Hermione heard Malfoy whisper, and she shot him a suspicious look. He just pinked and shook his head.

Draco was correct; a sense of composure emanated from his frame.

"It should only be a few minutes until his wake. You all should just wait here." Then she left.

Hermione bounced up and began scaling the area of the room mumbling unintelligible words with Ron flanking after her. "What if he has a case of temporary amnesia? What if he wakes up one day to find his limbs have _permanently _fallen of this time? What if—"

Unable to stand the somewhat valid worries that Hermione voiced and Draco thought, he quickly moved out of earshot, to the other side of the room. They were in identical positions as they were in the waiting area on the ground floor.

The room froze. They all had heard it. A long sigh that came from none of them, they all knew with one glance. Three heads turned to Harry's form, to find him blink his eyes sluggishly and blearily.

"Is it time to make breakfast already, Vernon . . .?"

It was there turn to blink, this time in confusion.

"What are you talking about Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

"Huh? Speak louder, Hermione, I can't hear a word you're saying."

"I said, what are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione repeated loudly, a desperate glare in her eyes.

Harry looked slightly annoyed. "This isn't funny, Hermione. Stop mouthing words."

"H—Harry, I haven't mouthed anything." Hermione said, teary.


	2. fear

Written for the OTP Boot Camp Challenge and the Drarry Challenge. Prompts:silence is golden.

* * *

**__****Silence is ****golden**

**ii. fear**

"It's temporary. Completely temporary. He'll regain it in six months, a year at most."

"A _year?_" She said in a hushed tone. Hermione didn't know _why _she was whispering, Harry couldn't—

Harry couldn't. That was the horrible, horrible truth. Initially, she had believed he was messing around, _haha, very funny, Harry._ But she hadn't been prepared for the cold and harsh _truth_. Even Malfoy looked paler than usual.

He didn't deserve this after all he'd done, after all the pain he'd already suffered through. The world really wasn't fair to him at all. Couldn't Harry every get a break? Every day, he was swamped with mindless fan girls who only cared about the name and the title, not the person behind it all. Honestly, sometimes she didn't know how he did it, how after everything he didn't give up. But she respected him for that.

Healer Smith shrugged and said there was nothing she could do, as the aftereffects of the particular curse were magically irreversible and no spell could repair them. They were left to their thoughts.

" What's wrong with you, Malfoy?" Ron snarled, noticing something for once.

Draco didn't know why he said it, he had a snappy remark on his tongue, but a confession instead rolled off his mouth, and he couldn't stop it.

". . . This is my fault. I could have prevented it, Pansy told me, it was some Slytherins from our year, I didn't know it would go this far. . ." His voice cracked, but his face remained stony.

Ron looked shocked, while Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond. "How do I know you aren't lying for some insidious reason?"

Draco rolled his eyes, regaining his composure. "Why would I lie about something like this? I have nothing to gain, I'm only putting the blame on myself." It was too late to take back what he said, so he'd just go along with it. Even if he hadn't intentionally said it, he still _meant _it.

"To clear your name perhaps? To game sympathy for doing this? You _do_ have something to gain Malfoy, and you know it."

"I didn't physically cast the spell, Granger. What I said was I could've _stopped _it. There's a difference."

It was meant to be a joke, they said. A prank, between old Gryffindor and Slytherin rivals. After this they could bury the hatchet, they said, start anew. Why did he believe them? He was a Slytherin himself, he should've known they wouldn't be so forgiving so quickly.

"There's a way we can settle this." Ron's outburst earned a raised a blond eyebrow.

"Do tell, Weasley."

"Veritaserum."

Silently, Hermione nodded her head, while Draco looked outraged. "Am I so untrustworthy that-"

"Yes, frankly, you are." Hermione deadpanned. She was helping Harry up on Ron's shoulder so they could apparate to 12 Grimmauld Place. His limbs were still sore, even after the magical numbing medicine.

"Coming?"

He grumbled, and reluctantly took her arm, instantly pulled into the familiar sensation of Apparition.

* * *

To keep him as far away from confusion as possible, Hermione wrote a short note to Harry explaining everything, and telling him to get some rest. He dazedly complied.

Hermione pulled the truth potion out of the bottomless pit of her small bag.

"Drink up, Malfoy."

If he wasn't so guilt-ridden, he would have stormed out right then and there. But he was, and he couldn't because of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx on the building. Snatching the liquid from her fingers, he drank half of the phial.

Ron looked eager to cause Malfoy any kind of embarrassment or displeasure. The brunette said something into his ear, and Ron agreed with a nod.

"Okay, Malfoy. I'll ask you the first question." She looked contemplative for a second. "Do you believe you were responsible for the loss of Harry Potter's arms, legs, etc. and hearing?"

A tight-lipped Malfoy responded, "Yes, I believe I am responsible."

Ron talked next. "Why did you follow us—Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley—to St. Mungo's?"

"I was guilty and worried. It was a rash decision." His teeth were gritted and his pale skin was slightly flushed.

_Oh really_, Hermione thought to herself, inwardly smirking. "And why were you worried and or guilty?"

His fist clenched. "Because I don't hate him as much as you think I do, Granger. It may be hard to believe, but I am, in fact, a decent person."

This time, Hermione really smirked, as if she knew something he didn't. "Right, of course. If you don't hate him, then what do you feel for him?" She blatantly ignored Ron's cry of "Hey, it was my turn!"

"I—I don't know." He admitted. Draco didn't. After the Triwizard tournament, we he could've died any minute, he stopped hating him, if he ever did at all. It seemed that whenever the Potter's life was on the line, Draco noticed how different his life would be without him. How he would miss him. Something tickled inside his stomach at that thought. _Must be the hunger. Haven't eaten since this morning._

Hermione smiled at him. It was disturbing. "I know how we can solve this problem." It was quite obvious. When she thought about it, it amazed her that she hadn't noticed before. She wondered if he did.

"Problem? What problem? I don't have a problem, Granger."

Ron looked as confused as Draco. "What're you talking about, Hermione?"

"Quiet, Ronald, I'll explain it to you later." With an affronted expression, Ron excused himself to the kitchen to eat the weight of a small elephant. "I see what's going on here, Malfoy, and I don't think you do. But don't worry. I'm going to help you. "

Quite rudely, Draco was cut off before he could utter a word. "In order to cleanse your conscious, you are going to watch over Harry, doing whatever he asks of you, and help him make a full recovery from this."

Scandalized, Draco asked, "How is this going to be beneficial to me?" Again, she smiled, with a wise look in her eye.

"You'll see." She said sagely.

* * *

_Magical notepads_. They really did have everything.

Individual number one (Draco) would write something on a page, and it would appear in individual number two's (Harry's) notebook, and vice versa, according to the blurb on the back of the packaging.

"It will work for now," Hermione told the two, as she and Ron rushed out of the house, to do Merlin-knows-what.

"Wait! Don't leave me hear with—"a loud door slam, ". . . Potter."

Draco sighed. Turning around to Harry, who was sitting stiffly on a bed, he scribbled something in the notepad: 'So, Potter. Really can't hear anything, can you?"

Harry replied. "No."

'That's unfortunate. My insults won't sound as clever, now that I've more time to think them up.'

"Look, Malfoy." A scratchy-voiced Harry stated, "I would appreciate it if you left me alone right now. It feels weird when I talk because I can't hear what I'm saying, an—and I'm just tired after all this. Please."

He scrawled, 'Fine, Potter.' For some reason, he was slightly _hurt _at his demand. Weird. 'Whatever you'd like. I'm only here out of the depths of my kind and compassionate heart, but if you don't want help, sure, okay. I'll just be on my way. I won't bother to apparate back to save you from being robbed and murdered in your sleep." Nonchalance was etched delicately into every syllable.

While Draco's claim was slightly outrageous, he did have a point. Not about his 'kind and compassionate heart' (Harry rolled his eyes), about being robbed. No one would rob this place, he knew, but the house itself was the reason he didn't want to be alone, without his hearing. It was eerily creepy at night.

"Wait."

Draco turned around, eyebrow raised in question, silently smug.

"Just stay here. Until I fall asleep, at least."

'Why should I?' Strangely enough, he was fine was staying back. After all he had made a wordless agreement with Hermione, and Malfoys kept their word (figuratively, in this case).

" Remember your 'kind and compassionate heart'? You shouldn't need a reason."

'Bloody Potter.' He wrote, scowling half-heartedly.

Harry just wore a satisfied smile as he closed his eyes.

In a matter of seconds, Draco could see Potter's breathing slow. He was fast asleep. _He wasn't joking when he said he was tired._ His head was turned on the side of the pillow, lip slightly parted, breathes coming out steadily _in _and _out,_ _inhale_ and _exhale,_ chest rising and falling, looking utterly perfect and . . . Was he watching Potter sleep? Dear Merlin. He knew he should _not _have eaten anything out of that kitchen, the food was probably spiked to make him think such _strange_ thoughts. . . _But it's true. _He shook his head, trying to rid himself of any traitorous thoughts. Draco must have been really, _really _tired.

As Draco was about to retire to the bedroom across from Potter's he was struck with sudden (in his humble opinion) genius. He hoped it was still on the dining table. . .

Two at a time, Draco stepped down the stairs and into the dining room. The phial, half-filled with Veritaserum, lay idly on its side.

Draco smiled.

* * *

When Harry woke up the back of Draco's head, face gazing off in the other direction, greeted him. Last night, he must have dozed off in the chair beside his bed.

Wondering if he should wake him up, Harry made to poke his form. As if he was reading his mind, Draco suddenly jumped awake, Harry's outstretched finger floating centimeters from the boy. Harry pulled his hand back, blushing, and hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Potter? What were you doing?" Draco asked loudly.

Harry looked at him confusedly.

"Right. You can't hear." He mumbled to himself. Taking the notepad out of his pocket, he copied what he voiced onto the paper.

"Uh—I was just sleeping wasn't I?" Even if he couldn't hear, he could tell that came out in a higher pitch than he'd intended, if Malfoy's inquiring eyebrow was an impartial judge. "Well—have you made breakfast yet? I'm starving."

Harry stared as Draco wrote down a particularly long looking message on the notepad. When he finished, he saw it appear on his own: '_Me?_ Don't you have a house elf to do that? I am not your servant; I'm just here to make sure you don't kill yourself. I think you're perfectly capable of making your own breakfast, seeing as _I'm _the guest here, but, purely out of the goodness of my _heart_, I think just this once I'll do something for you, Potter. Feel special. Not many get this chance at all.'

Rolling his eyes at the longevity of the memo Harry told him, "You could've just said 'no'." Draco responded with a scoff and, with his normal swaggering gait, stormed out of the room.

Deciding to follow Draco, Harry pushed himself off the bed. Then, seeing he was still in his pajamas, Harry quickly changed into something more suitable.

Downstairs, Draco seemed to have magicked up a breakfast of simple eggs and bacon out of—well, he was too drowsy to think too hard about. Hoping that it wasn't previously some horridly expired box of cereal, Harry sat across from Draco and shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth. Now, he noticed, a glass of some ambiguous red-colored liquid was sitting beside his plate.

"What is this?"

Lazily he scrawled down the words 'Orange juice, Potter.'

Harry blinked. "Orange juice is orange. This is not orange. This is red."

'Don't be so whiny. Just drink it, it's orange juice, I assure you.'

Rather distrustfully, he sipped the 'orange juice', As it turned out, it really did taste like orange juice. He took another hesitant taste. Sensing no poison or any other malicious substance, he swallowed the lot in two gulps.

'Thirsty, are you?'

"Mhmm."

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, although Draco seemed to be _happy_ for some obscene reason. Maybe he was just reading him wrong; Harry was never good at sensing the boy's emotions.

After they had both finished and were putting the utensils away (neither could find Kreacher anywhere) Draco asked a question.

'. . . Harry,' He wrote, as if testing out how the word sounded in his head, 'Right now . . . what is your greatest fear?'

And Harry's heartbeat sped up, and his mouth was moving without his consent, and he was saying something _he_ didn't even know for sure. "Being stuck like this for a year. Not being able to hear anything—like the sound of a Quidditch match, or music, or even your voice—"

'My voice? What are you saying, Potter?' It was barely intelligible, Draco's hand was so shaky. He was looking at Harry, into his emerald eyes, searching for what he meant, what he could _possibly_ mean by that statement. Ragged breath was emitting from both of them and it was then Harry's eyes narrowed. In _anger_, in _betrayal_, in _realization_, because now he knew why he was saying these things, things he hadn't meant to say.

"You—you put something in my drink didn't you? Veritaserum? That's what's making me say this, isn't it? _Isn't it?_"

Everything was silent, except for the furious breath from Harry. Draco wrote nothing. He just stared into his eyes again _slate grey into emerald green—_

Harry broke the stare.

He turned around and walked out of 12 Grimmauld Place and into the streets of the muggle neighborhood.


End file.
